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 Jul 2015
Emily Dickinson
1540

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy—
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—
The Dusk drew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone—
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.
 Jul 2015
Dutch
“Sorry for your lost. She was a good woman. I will be sure to keep you in my prayers”
Oh! I am sweating, not crying.

— The End —